


The Brave One

by ALoza



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Detective Derek, Detective Derek Hale, Killing, M/M, New York City, Nightmares, Radio Host Stiles, Revenge, The Brave One AU, The Brave One but Different, Vigilante Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 06:01:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1733732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALoza/pseuds/ALoza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being brutally attacked in the park and losing his fiancee, Stiles shuts down, losing himself to darkness, to revenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Brave One

Stiles’ show garnered him awards, but he didn’t care much about them. Sure, they were nice, and it felt great knowing people listened and enjoyed his radio show, but he didn’t do it for the hype or the recognition. He loved his job, loved knowing that every morning, from ten to three, he got to sit in his swivel chair and talk into a microphone, where his voice would be heard throughout the east coat. 

He talked about his life, about his fiancee, Jackson - who disliked that his colleagues at the hospital knew intimate details about his sex life with Stiles - about anything and everything that struck his fancy; war, history, city life and the ever changing bustle of New York City. He’d talk about his favorite haunts, little rinky-dink cafes that no one knew about but served the best cup of coffee in the whole damn city, mostly unknown parks no bigger than a house wedged in the middle of nowhere, but were incredibly relaxing.

Stiles ended the segment and took a swig from his water bottle, spinning around in his chair and giving the sound guy on the other side of the mirror a thumbs up before pulling his shoulder bag on and bouncing out of the booth, running up to Allison, his boss.

“Good show,” she smiles, cocking her head, brown eyes sparkling. “Look, I know you said no already, but HBO called again about that TV spot and-”

Stiles sighs loudly, “I’m not a television personality. I’m a voice. Besides, I love my anonymity.”

Allison nods, smiling sadly. “I’d just hate to see you turn down an opportunity like this.”

Stiles laughs, “Yeah, yeah. I’ll tell you what, I’ll think about it.”

Allison perks up, “You better.”

The sun is still high in the summer sky, and Stiles sighs into the heat. He can hear the city buzz around him, cars honking, bike bells chiming, and the chattering of New Yorker’s. 

He makes it to the invitation store in time to put in the final order before calling Jackson, hopping down the street. 

“Hello?”

Stiles breaks into a smile, “Good afternoon, Doctor.”

He can hear Jackson chuckle on the other end, “And how are you this fine day?”

“Perfectly perfect. I just put in the order for the invitations, and since you never gave me an answer, I went with vanilla instead of ivory. Sounds less pretentious.”

“Cream, vanilla, ivory, I don’t really care, I just want to marry you already,” Jackson says, and Stiles feels his cheeks burn. “Let’s just go to City Hall tonight.”

“And face our parents’ wrath? No, thank you. Besides, this is a big deal. When am I ever going to get to do this again?”

“Never, I hope.”

“Damn straight.”

Jackson laughs, “Are you going to visit me at the hospital?”

“Would if I could baby-doll, but I promised Lydia I’d go to her exhibit.”

“Ah, the great artist.”

“Shush. You should join me,” Stiles smiles. 

Jackson sighs loudly, “Hm, a boring art exhibit with a bunch of people who think a picture of a graffitied brick wall from some shithole in Brooklyn is considered a masterpiece. No thanks, I’ll just meet you at home.”

Stiles frowns, “Please, please, please?”

“Still no, and don’t do the puppy pout, it only works when I can actually see your face.”

“Damn. What if I send you a picture? Ugh, okay, alright, I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

“Be safe, I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

***

Stiles curses Jackson for being right. Lydia is mingling with other guests, leaving Stiles to fend for himself in a sea of critics fawning over photos by an up-and-coming photographer. The pictures themselves aren’t that bad, mostly candids of people in the city amidst a few professional portraits of New York elite.

“So what’s the verdict?”

Stiles yelps, clutching his drink to his chest as he spins on his heel. 

“Jackson! You came!” Stiles smiles, throwing his arms around the blonde, spilling his drink in the process.

Jackson laughs into the crook of Stiles’ neck, nuzzling the sweet smelling flesh. 

“Figured I had nothing better to do, why not spend the evening rolling my eyes with you,” he jokes, pressing a chaste kiss onto Stiles’ full lips.

“Very funny,” a voice says from behind them. 

“Hey, Lyds,” Stiles smiles.

The redhead raises a brow, “My, my, to what do I owe this lovely visit, Jackson?”

Jackson shrugs, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ middle, resting his chin on his shoulder. “I’m a sucker for modern art.”

“Uh-huh,” Lydia smirks. “I take it you’ve come to collect him now?”

Jackson hides his grin, “Sorry, I’m a greedy bastard.”

His hand rests on Stiles’ ass and the brunette’s eyes bulge comically. 

“I don’t doubt it,” Lydia says. “You owe me at least one evening of your time, Stiles.”

Stiles nods bashfully, “Yeah, yeah, okay. Sorry, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Lydia nods and hugs him before they disappear down the stairs and into the street. 

***

Stiles waits for Jackson to come back with Alpha, their German Shepherd, on the steps of their brownstone. Music softly pours from their neighbor’s window and Marin Morrell pokes her head out, squinting in the face of the setting sun.

“Evening, neighbor,” Stiles calls.

Marin cocks her head and smiles softly, “Hello, Stiles.”

“Nice night, huh?” he asks.

She nods, “Yes. The heat seems to be finally breaking.”

“Thank god,” Stiles laughs. 

“Here,” she says, tossing him an apple.

Stiles’ eyebrows quirk, “Thanks.”

She smiles and heads back inside, leaving the window slightly ajar, the sweet smell of incense wafting onto the street.

The front door opens and Alpha jumps into Stiles’ lap.

“Hey, big guy,” Stiles laughs, nuzzling the puppy. 

Jackson raises a brow at the apple. 

Stiles gestures to Marin’s window with his chin before taking a bite.

“Odd,” Jackson says, snatching the apple and biting into it.

“Hey, that bite was too big,” Stiles protests.

Jackson chuckles, throwing his arm around Stiles’ shoulder, pressing his body snug against his. He kisses his temple gently, “I owe you one.”

They walk to the park in comfortable silence, chatting about their upcoming wedding and Jackson’s busy schedule at the hospital. 

“How’s the show going?” Jackson asks. “I didn’t get a chance to catch it today, I was in surgery for most of the morning.”

Stiles shrugs, “It was okay. Allison keeps pestering me to take the HBO special, but I don’t really know if I want to do it.”

“Hm, I’m against it, but mostly for selfish reasons. I’d prefer it if other men didn’t know what you look like,” Jackson says, tossing a bouncy ball down the pathway and Alpha yips, chasing after it.

“Oh please,” Stiles rolls his eyes. “Who, besides you, would be interested in little old me? Pale skin, skinny as a post, absolutely no sexual appeal-”

Jackson grips him close, their bodies flush against each other, and kisses him silent. “Don’t talk about yourself that way.”

Stiles smirks, “If I stop, can I get another kiss?”

Jackson all but growls, folding his hands on the small of Stiles’ back, and licks into his mouth, swallowing up his moans.

It’s perfect and warm in Jackson’s arm, and if it weren’t for the sharp yelp from under the bridge they were approaching, he would have been content to stay there forever.

“Alpha?” Jackson calls, taking Stiles’ hand and following the sounds of a dog whining.

The sun has mostly set, and the only light is coming from a nearby streetlight. 

“Alpha? Here, boy,” Stiles whistles. “Come here, puppy.”

Jackson suddenly freezes, his grip becoming iron tight on Stiles’ arm. 

“Ow,” Stiles hisses. “What is it?”

“Shhh,” Jackson whispers, and Stiles’ stomach sinks as figures step out from the darkness of the tunnel, one of them toting Alpha by his collar.

“Don’t you know there’s a leash law?” the one holding Alpha says, face half masked in shadows.

Stiles swallows.

“Uh, yeah, sorry about that,” Jackson says. “Can I have him back now?”

The man tisks, “What, don’t I get a reward?”

“Yes, my gratitude, now let him go,” Jackson snarls, shielding Stiles behind him. 

The man chuckles, and Stiles notices the others begin to circle around them, one of them using a video camera, filming them. 

“You know gratitude doesn’t amount to anything here,” he says, and one of the others pulls Stiles away from Jackson. Jackson sees red and swings, pushing Stiles to ground when his fist connects brutally with the man’s temple.

And then the scene goes black as the others descend, swinging pipes and forcing Jackson to the ground. One of the larger men pins Stiles into the concrete, yanking at his engagement ring, but Stiles struggles. 

“No, please!” Stiles cries, stomach rolling and sickening at the sound of Jackson’s screams. “Please! Leave him alone!”

Laughs echo through the tunnel, “Aw, look, a couple of faggots in love!”

“Stiles!” Jackson’s voice is hoarse and ruined, bloodied. He reaches towards his fiancee, eyes burning with tears at the sight of him being beaten, taken, the larger man straddling him as his fists strike his face repeatedly. A pipe crushes into his back and he cries out, teeth grinding as he forces himself to keep crawling forward through the blinding pain.

“Stiles!” he calls, but he doesn’t respond. “STILES!”

***

Detective Derek Hale bursts through the hospital doors, rage boiling in his veins and under his skin. It’d only been thirty minutes ago that he’d gotten the call that his key witness in a murder trial had shot herself and was in critical condition. The whole situation turned his stomach. 

“Where is she?” he barks, and his partner, Scott McCall, rushes towards him, waving away a disgruntled looking nurse.

“Derek, wait,” he says.

“No,” Derek shakes his head. “I need to see her.”

Scott frowns. “She’s gone.”

Derek stops, swearing. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Scott whispers. “They managed to revive her, but she’d lost so much blood...”

Derek hangs his head, wiping his hand across his face. 

“Fuck,” he says, again, sharper. “Where’s Erica?”

Scott gestures to a small room adjacent to the nurse’s station with his chin, “In there, with the social worker.”

“And Deucalion?”

Scott shrugs, “Should be here in a few minutes, so I suggest if you want to talk to her, you do it now.”

Derek nods before disappearing into the room where a small, blonde girl is waiting with an older woman. She looks sad, her eyes are wet, and Derek’s chest aches. 

He kneels before her, and their eyes are level.

“Can I talk to her?” Derek asks the social worker, and the woman nods.

“You can try.”

Derek cocks his head, “Hi, Erica, do you remember me?”

Erica nods, her brown eyes filling with tears. “You’re the man who was helping my mommy.”

Derek smiles sadly, “Yeah. My name’s Derek. Can I ask you some questions, sweetheart?”

Erica nods slowly.

“Come on,” Derek says, taking her hand, leading her to a jar of lollipops on the counter. “Want a sucker?”

She nods, eyes crinkling. “The red one, please.”

Derek chuckles, “That’s the one I wanted.”

Erica relaxes and accepts the lollipop, popping it into her mouth, blinking up at the strangely imposing detective.

“Erica, do you know what happened to your mom?” Derek asks, but before the girl can answer, the door bursts open and Scott barrels in after a brown haired man.

“I want to see my daughter!” he shouts, and two more officers run in after Scott, detaining him.

“Get him out of here!” Derek orders, but the man struggles.

“You don’t have the right! I need to see her!” 

“No, I do have the right. So why don’t you go and get your team of lawyers ready, because you’re going to need them.” Derek glares at the man, “Get him out of my sight.”

The two officers nod, dragging the man out. 

Derek trembles with rage, “I’m going to take a walk.”

Scott nods, “Yeah, go ahead.”

Derek hates hospitals, hates the smell of medical supplies, the steely color of the equipment, how cold it always seems to be.

He wanders through mostly quiet halls, mind racing. His case was gone. His key witness that could finally put Deucalion away was dead, supposedly by her own hand. But Derek didn’t buy it. Jennifer Blake loved her daughter, she wouldn’t leave her alone with Deucalion, wouldn’t put her at risk.

He stops at a room, recognizing the name on the door: Stilinski, Stiles.

The man was a radio host, a damn funny one, too.

Derek peeked through the window and was horrified to see the man almost completely wrapped in bandages, face hidden in the layers of white gauze.

“Beaten,” someone says, and nurse comes through the door. “His fiancee didn’t make it.”

Derek sighed, “Shit.”

“I hope it pulls through, I listen to his show,” the nurse says, scrawling something onto her clipboard. “Burst of sunshine in an otherwise shitty city.”

Derek frowned, but nodded. 

“Goodnight, Detective,” the nurse says, smiling sadly.

Derek decided then that he hated New York; he’d always hated it, but he loved protecting it’s residence more. The city was a dark and ruthless place, the crime and the violence often getting to him. But it was for people like this, Stiles, and Erica, he stayed. 

“Don’t worry,” Derek whispered, eyes never leaving the unconscious man. “I’ll get you justice. I promise.”


End file.
